Comments are always welcome, and do enjoy a third chapter about the last (if not first) leg of her journey.

Little Sparrow

Chapter III: Cold and Biting, the Winds of Caradhras

It was not long before heavy raindrops fell from the skies. Puddles formed, and water splashed about as her horse pushed on, soaking her trousers in mud. She felt miserable and cold, but her gaze was fixed on the mountains ahead, growing ever closer as the hours passed. But despite the weather, dejecting as it was, an ever-present sense of anticipation weaved through her thoughts. Never had she been further than the glades of Lothlórien, skirted the borders of the Wold and the lands of the Rohirrim. From what she could glean from her uncle's letter he was to go much, much further.

Only once during the day did she halt; when the storm was at its peak and thunder rumbled in the distance, edging threateningly closer on the wind, she deemed it unwise to carry on. Many jagged rocks, dark teeth in a mouth of green, protruded through the grass, and Rell found an outcrop large enough to fit her horse and herself. Shielded partially from the downpour, Rell pulled her cloak tight and her knees close, hoping to wait out the storm. She tried to find some rest, because she knew the chances grew slimmer once she crossed over the mountains. Elves guarded both sides of the passes of the Misty Mountains, but from that point further onwards it was unknown lands to her – and the unknown was always dangerous.

Her back and legs ached from many hours in the saddle, and this time it did not take long before she fell into a fretful slumber.

For how long she was asleep, leaning against Luin's warm flank, she knew not; no sun could tell her much. But the thunder lessened, and a distant rumble running through the ground roused her suddenly. A tremor through the ground, faint. Finding her feet, she climbed the slippery stone and gazed out over the windy uplands. A line of trees stalked the horizon, still five leagues away to the north-west. Following with her eyes the shadowy eaves and its further slopes fading into the distant grey, she saw forms move across the plain between her and the trees.

There was a silence in the empty fields, but at length she could hear the beat of galloping hoofs as they came closer. Slowly, she took the long bow from her back and nocked an arrow, yet kept it pointed to the ground until she could make out the shape of the horse riders. They followed the trail for a while longer, then swerved off to approach the outcrop upon which she was standing. She recognized the riders, and she held up a hand in greeting, knowing well they had already spotted her.

The horses were lithe, clean-limbed and swift; their coats glistened in the rain, and their manes were braided with silver threads. Both riders had long hair that flowed out behind them, their faces stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears, and shirts of mail hung down upon their knees. While waiting for the elven scouts, the rainfall lessened to a lighter shower, turning to naught but a cold-touched drizzle. A gleam of sun through fleeting clouds fell on her hands as she returned the arrow to its quiver, now knowing there were no enemies about.

With great speed and skill the riders checked their steeds, and soon Rell found herself looking down on them from the stone outcrop. Luin whinnied a soft greeting. They halted at the rock; the tallest Elf rode forward, grey eyes running swiftly over her before he spoke. "What brings a Ranger of the North here, alone?" He asked in the Common Speech, while she climbed down the slippery rock to stand before him.

"I am to meet with my kin," she responded, pointing east to the hazy peaks still far away. "Beyond the Mountains. Do you have any news to share?"

His gaze followed her outstretched hand, and a darkened look passed over his features. "Winter lays claim on the heights of Hithaeglir much sooner than its bordering lands, and its grasp is harsh. The lower pass is taken by orcs," he said, "It would be safer to take the Redhorn Pass at this time of year, though it is a further journey." Rell knew the elf's words were wise, but despite his guidance she shook her head.

"My companion cannot wait for me to take the long way around, and I must therefore find him on the road. The trail will grow cold if I take another path." She lowered her head in acknowledgment of his counsel. "I must take the High Pass. Through its perils."

He said nothing more.

She spent some time longer with the Elves, for they were also heading towards the foothills of the mountains. They were passing messages between the scouts camped at the rocky foothills and to Imladris, and so they rode side by side for a while. When the slopes grew steeper, and there was further between green tufts of grass, Rell bid them farewell and continued her journey alone. With the warning of orcs in the region, she took to the higher path, although it was a longer journey. She knew her uncle would do the same.

While she climbed, the wind suddenly fell and then veered round to the south.

The swift-flowing clouds lifted and melted away, and the sun came out, piercingly pale and bright.

It was a reassuring sight, and she hoped it would last until she passed over the Misty Mountains. Around her the cliff-wall rose ever taller, the path narrowed until she at times had to dismount and gently steer Luin by the hand. The snow-tipped peaks gleamed in the sun, dark and threatening as they bore down upon her. Tall and still distant. At length she passed the last line of trees; she was left in a world of cold grey stone. Rell rode on, climbing steadily but ever more slowly as the road wound up further and further. With the passing of noon the way soon turned white, crunching below her horse's hoofs, for here snow was present throughout the year.

The way became steep and difficult. The twisting and climbing road had in many places almost disappeared, and was blocked with fallen stones and boulders. A bitter wind swirled among the rocks, and she wound her way under a sheer wall of cliffs to the left, and the grim flanks of the mountain towered up in the gloom. Rell felt a soft touch on her face. Cold and numbing. She put out an arm and saw the dim white flakes of snow settling on her sleeve. A scowl marred her features, concerned with the change.

The High Pass was treacherous even in the sun, but a snowstorm was more than worrisome. She went on, but it was not long before the snow was falling fast, filling the air, and swirling into her eyes. Pulling the cloak down to shield her gaze, she set the pace much slower, for the path ahead could hardly be seen. A chill settled in her body, but she pressed on – careful not to slip and fall to her death. She had hoped to make the climb without delay, despite the risk, and now her thoughtlessness would make her pay dearly.

If her uncle had made it across the mountains he would only increase the distance between them further, and he would be lost to her in the wilderness around the Anduin. The wind was piercing, howling in her ears and biting at her skin, and the snow became a blinding blizzard. But still she pressed on. The cliff gave but a little protection, yet the snow flowed down in ever denser clouds until her horse struggled through knee-high piles. Everything around her was hidden in the snowfall, and she could barely see ahead, let alone the path beneath her feet. Often her legs would cave from exhaustion, shivering and numbed, but the snow did not relent.

She could not mount. In the treacherous white, Luin would need guidance, and Rell was then forced to fight her way through the dunes of snow. Careful, searching for footfall where often the path came to a sudden, and abrupt, end. More than once she clutched the rocks, balance almost lost, and the gaping white pit below loomed dangerously close.

Rell knew not what time of day it was, or for how long she struggled forward; the sky was dark, grey clouds heavy, and her eyes watered in the cold. Keeping her head bent, watching and struggling for sure footings, she tried to ride out the storm. Even if she could find a place to rest, to find some form of shelter, she had not brought any firewood to light a fire. There was no heat left in her body.

It would be a cold and sleepless night.

"I am sorry, Luin," she whispered through clattering teeth, running her gloved hand over the coarse hairs; countless flakes turned the mane white, but there was still heat to be found in the large animal. "You probably preferred the warm stables rather than this. And your oats ..." Rell found support against the horse, her limbs aching. She was chilled to the bone, her head dizzy at the mere thought of the long and painful march across the mountain. Black specks swam before her eyes, and then she feared the snow would get the better of her.

Would she succumb to the cold? Let it lull her to sleep until death claimed her, here on the mountain slope – where she would not be found before spring-time thawed the snow. When her eyelids became too heavy, and her legs gave in, Rell could still not see an end to the climb. Going further up and up. An unending whiteness, towering up ahead of her on the path. She had anticipated the coldness and the sting of the snow, but not the ferocity of the wind. All she could do was bow her head until her chin touched her chest, and to keep walking. Though her feet were freezing and her footsteps were small, sinking in past her ankles with every stride, she also knew each step took her further.

She could not stop.

It was growing darker still; the snow falling heavier and piling ever taller around her. Finally deciding to find a place to rest, she huddled down below a cliff-wall, where the bottom leaned in but a little. She hoped it would take the worst bite of the wind. Rell kept her back to the wall, and Luin stood patiently but dejected in front of her, screening her a little. Her skin burned in its numbness.

The snow kept mounting.

A great sleepiness came over her. Rell felt herself sinking fast into a warm and hazy dream, despite the warning in her mind; needle-pricks pierced her exposed skin, coloured red in frostbite as she drew the cloak tight. With a last effort, she came back to painful wakefulness, and gasping for breath where every inhale was painful. Her hands trembled and shook as she pulled some bread from the satchel. The snow whirled about them thicker than ever, and the wind blew louder. She wished for a fire, the smallest of flames, to keep the cold at bay; but in her hurry, she had been thoughtless. Reckless.

The meal was damp, tasteless in her mouth, but it did give some warmth and strength to her body. She knew that the storm was far from over, and the coming long hours of night would be much worse; neither pressing on nor going back down the mountain-path was an option, and the Ranger was forced to stay, praying for the best. With no choice but to wait and hope the Valar would be merciful. For the storm to pass.

The time dragged on.

It was soon evening, and the grey light was waning fast. The mountains were veiled in deepening dusk, the wind was cold, but not once did regret flicker through her thoughts. A premonition – or foreboding intuition, she knew not which – but she was certain her uncle should not go on his quest alone. Rell looked up at the sky, hoping to see the stars through the clouds, but all was dark. Her throat burned and her nose runny, a misty haze forming in front of her face whenever she breathed.

A dulled thought made her smile with little humour. I should have taken the lower pass, risked the orcs – at least I could fight them. Shooting arrows at the skies would do me no good ...

Then, but a tiny pale flickering light peered down through the cover of clouds. Relief welled up inside her chest at the sight of Valacirca. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to Varda for the glimmering hope, rekindled, for soon after the snowflakes grew large and the harsh winds lessened. The clouds lowered and thinned. It felt like another hour before she could see the faint outlines of mountain peaks, grey teeth about her on all sides.

When the blizzard calmed and slowly a dim light began to grow, night had almost passed. Rell came to her feet; pain ran through her fingers when she pulled at the reins, urging Luin to its feet. The layer of snow was soft but deep, and her horse had little trouble carving a path through it for her to walk, albeit for her shivering body it was still with difficulty. The climb continued for half a day more, though it seemed far longer, before the slopes evened out and the path widened enough for her to mount. The heights above were hidden in great clouds still heavy with the threat of snow, and she quickly pressed on before the storm found renewed strength to unleash upon her.

Hithaeglir had proven an overwhelming opponent.

It was a much welcome respite when she returned to the saddle, rubbing her arms and legs for warmth, and the slope began to descent. The wind was still cold, and snowflakes whirled about, but she barely noticed it by then. She was much too grateful for the change. Another day had soon passed on the mountain. While it was growing darker still, the landscape, covered in white, almost glowed. Rell flexed her fingers, then drew them over her face to wipe away the frosty chill. The path bent, and as the moonlight grew stronger it showed a world silent and shrouded, and the shapeless depths below were lost to sight.

When at length the mountainside began its true descent, the storm had waned enough for Rell to see the silverly sphere of the moon above; faint and veiled in grey clouds, but it was there. Watching her, lighting her path down. Sharp cliffs reared up more than twice the height of her horse, towering walls enclosing on both sides, and she had no other way to go. The Elf's warning resounded in her head – orcs were about in the hills. Rell could only hope the weather had deterred them from climbing this high, and that by morning they had retreated to their caves to hide from the long reach of the sun.

She could not safely enter the forest before the banks of the Anduin, at least not while night was still about and enemies could hide unseen. She would have to wait. Even if now were the hours of orcs and goblins.

But still she could feel the malice of the mountain, shivers crawling over her skin, as her eyes peered out over the great expanse. The Ranger was very weary; the blizzard had tired her out, and she wished deeply for rest. The wind was hissing among the rocks, and there was howling and wailing all around in the empty spaces of the night. Luin's nostrils flared as the horse shifted nervously, smelling something on the wind. Rell became immediately aware.

Her sword-hand curled around the hilt, while with the other tightened her grip on the reins.

There were servants of the Enemy in the mountains, but how close and how many she knew not. Drawing Luin to a halt, Rell weighed her options; to wait for the light of dawn, hoping the storm had passed for good; or to venture down to the lower pass with swiftness, but in the dark of night? She feared her horse could not make it to the forest, not with the icy and snow-covered path in their way. Broken bones would be her companion down, or worse. It would kill them both.

Making up her mind, she dismounted. "Let us start as soon as it is light tomorrow," Rell said. Then, with hesitation, added, "–if we can."

She worried about the jagged walls around them, knowing well it was a perfect place for an ambush, but in the otherwise snowy landscape the shadows gave some cover. For her defence in the night she found a gap between boulder-stones, large enough to hide her horse to some extent, and then she took to the long and sleepless watch. The bow lay over her knees, an arrow twirled between her fingers, as she looked out into the darkness.

Never was the sighing wind silent, weaving through the rocks; she sat rigid and alert, waiting for glowing eyes in the dark to spring forward, for the cries and howls to be orcs, hunting the lonesome figure in the snow. Sometimes nearer and sometimes further off. In the dead of night she knew not if it was stars in the sky, cresting the broken hilltop, or shining eyes. Was she being watched? Or was her weariness tiring her out enough to see things that were not there?

Everything appeared hostile, lurking dangers amidst the shelterless lands.

The night was growing old, and westward the moon was setting. It gleamed through the breaking clouds, and only a little snow had piled up throughout the hours of darkness. The first light of dawn came dimly in the sky; she watched it, eyes hooded, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. The bleakness parted and gave way to crimson streaks.

Rell had made it through the night. Cold and exhausted, but alive. She had seen no sign of enemies apart from the sounds, and when she checked her surroundings in the growing light, she found no traces of orcs. No footprints. Nothing, and she nearly laughed; how exhaustion played tricks on the weary mind! The snow looked untouched.

Pure.

She fed Luin the apples from her satchel, took another bread for herself, and while eating watched the steep snow-clad slope as it led down the mountain. Ahead, the lands were uncovered with the parting of the clouds; rocks and crevices gave way for grasslands and trees in the far distance, and the region of Rhovanion spread out before her eyes. A light was upon it, pale and new, and she took a moment to trace her road. What little she knew of her uncle's journey, he was to follow the great river as written in his letter.

But how far? She wondered. It would do her no good to wander aimlessly in the woods. From the road there were now many paths to take, and unless she by luck found his tracks there was little way of knowing where to go. In the end she decided. If she was right – and he was hunting the strange creature – then surely all things evil would seek out like-minded kin. She would follow the banks of the Anduin south, through forests and marshes, hoping to hear news of a lone Ranger spotted in the wild. Even if it took her as far as the Black Gate.

With the full light of morning she mounted. The weather changed again, and the turning wind brought the clouds north-west until they vanished beyond the peaks of the mountain. The sky was opened, high and blue, and as she stood upon the hill side, ready to depart, a pale sunlight gleamed over the snow. She thanked the Valar for allowing her to pass through the night, unscathed, and tried not to think of how badly it could all have turned. She could feel the sunlight heating her skin, fighting off the cold that had long rested in her body.

Rell pulled her horse forward, carefully descending as often stones and snow rolled down ahead of them. While Luin remained constant, treading through the knee-high snow, the Ranger watched the cliffs and edges with vigilance. Although there had been no sign of orcs, the horrid creatures could still be hiding in the cracks and fissures, and her bow was ready to meet them.

As it would turn out, her concerns were unfounded, and she reached the foothills of the mountain without difficulty. From there she could press on at a greater pace, and she spurred Luin forward. It was not yet evening when she reached the first copse of trees, and the land turned green. The oaks were wretched and gnarled, twisted in the biting winds that often swept across the lands from the west. But soon the branches grew thick, intertwined, so that a cover was formed above her head and she moved on in shadow.

She had reached the great forest, following for many miles the banks of the Anduin. The Great River of Wilderland flowed from its source in the Grey Mountains to Belegaer, the deep seas in the south, and the current was ever strong and turbulent. While Rell only skirted the edge of the forest, setting a swift and direct course, she could still hear the roaring waters ever so often, carried by the wind over the treetops.

The blue sky faded, for the day was drawing to its end, and cold stars were glinting in the sky high above the sunset.

With a bit of searching she found a dell, not far into the woods, and in the most sheltered and lowest corner she prepared to camp for the night. There were many branches to be found on the forest floor, and it was not long before Rell could start a small, and much welcomed, fire. The trail of smoke wove into the growing gloom, while she sat close by the heat and ate a little of her food. She was aware of her great hunger, for she had not eaten much in the last few days, but she touched only little – saving the rest for the long journey.

Rell would have to look for berries and roots soon, but she also had to make haste. There would be little time to resupply along the road if she hoped to catch her uncle. The cold increased as darkness came on. Beyond the dell the grey land was now vanishing quickly into shadow. There were no sounds, except an occasional beast scampering through the undergrowth in search of prey. She huddled round the fire, wrapped tightly in her cloak, while memories of the blizzard came back to her. She wondered how long the chill would haunt her.

The cloak made her blend in to one with her surroundings, rested against a large bole and with her sword at hand. As night fell, the light of the fire began to shine out brightly, and it would easily be spotted by those who knew how to look; but she allowed it to burn until it was but embers in the ash, for she needed heat. Despite the chill long subsiding, the icy touch of Hithaeglir clung to her. In the very marrow of her bones, cold hands clasping tightly; unwilling to let go.

With only little sleep that night, she was greeted by the cold and clear dawn, and the promise of another day on the lonely road.

She ate very little before departing.

One day soon passed into another, and another followed after. Rell grew weary, uncertain about her road, and advanced only slowly. She had to pick a way through a pathless country, encumbered by fallen trees and tumbled rocks, through wide-stretching plains of grass and dust. There were no settlements in this region; Elves kept to their strongholds, in Imladris and Lórien, while Men had never ventured this far north and stayed. Without Luin, her only other company was that of birds – dark shadows, as great swarms carved through the skies.

It was her third day after passing the Misty Mountains when the weather turned wet. Fine drenching rain fell throughout the day, and by nightfall, while setting up a cheerless camp, she was soaked. Rell could not get a fire to burn. That night she camped on a stony shelf with a rock-wall behind her, and only in the morning had the rain stopped. The wind was shifting again, but the clouds were still thick. Pale strips of blue appeared, though most was grey and dull. She lit a fire to dry, and she ate the last of the bread and cheese.

When she looked out, she saw a faint trail glittered in the rising sun, silver cutting through green.

The river ahead was short, its mouth somewhere to the west where it sprung from the Misty Mountains, and it was by then a welcome sight. She now knew where she was. It would be a day's journey before the Anduin would turn, and she would reach the Undeeps. From there it was the open plains, realm of the Horse-lords; here she hoped to hear news, for her uncle had often visited the green steppes of Rohan and it was the quickest road to the Dark Lands.

She finished her meal and went on her way.

The rest of that day was spent scrambling over rocky ground, and often she would find the path barred by ridges of high land; bare points like teeth, and she had little choice but to go back and around. While climbing on to a narrow saddle between two higher points, she saw the lands fall steeply away and the river clearly visible in the valley below; they went down the southern side of the ridge, and before long Rell was able to ride again.

When she reached the Gladden River, the sun was high and shone down through half-striped clouds, and lit the path with bright patches of light. While slowly guiding Luin through the waters, searching for sure footings between slippery stones, her mind wandered. Not many miles east, where a wilderness of marshes and wetlands formed by the meeting of two rivers, an ambush took place long ago. It was there that Isildur, and his three oldest sons, met their end.

The story was told in speculation, for the body of the great king had never been found.

She wetted her lips, glancing down into the shimmering waters. A heron startled from hiding between withered bulrushes, large wings flapping across the still surface before vanishing into the forest. What had become of the High King of the Two Kingdoms? He, who had cut off the Ring of Power; defeated the Terrible Enemy?

Beyond the river she found the clear beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the hills and thinning woodlands; in places it was choked with fallen stones and trees, faint and overgrown, and it appeared seldomly used. As it provided the easiest way, Rell followed it, but she remained wary, knowing not who had once trotted the path before her.

There was still far to the nearest outpost of Men, at least from what she had been taught and the maps she knew, and the path grew ever broader as she went along. She found old trees had been cut or broken down, heaved aside, and if not for the signs of abandonment she would have turned from the path by then. It was too wide to have been made by her kind.

Again, her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, at the ready.

But Rell found no enemies on the road, and soon the river lay far behind her and the forest thinned. She looked back. Through an opening in the trees she caught a glimpse of the clear waters, but then she turned away. Now open plains stretched further than the eye could see, the green becoming one with the horizon. There was nothing between her and the woods of Lórien, nested between the south-eastern end of the Misty Mountains and the great river Anduin, when she spurred Luin to a quicker trot.

It was less than a day before the tall trees came fully into view ahead.

The area was relatively safe, guarded by the grey-cloaked marchwardens from flets high in the trees, and seldom any beast or man ventured close in fear of the White Lady. Though neither would she; for Galadriel, Mistress of Magic, saw many things and knew the minds of many. She could not risk being send back, with an escort of Elves close at hand, making sure she returned properly. Instead she finally steered east, approaching the great and wild river; with a last look she watched the dark edge of the forest, where even in the waning light an ethereal glow hung over the trees of old.

It was a beautiful warning, and within the shadowed realm all enemies would be met with a swift and painful death.

She pulled the cloak over her head, hoping any scouts would see her as nothing more than a common Ranger passing by their lands. Then, with the sun sinking behind the mist-covered mountains, and as the shadows were deepening in the woods, she carried on in to the thickets where dusk had already gathered. Night came beneath the trees as Luin brought her further from Lórien.

Suddenly she came into the open again, and Rell found herself under a pale evening sky prickled by a few early stars high above. There was a wide treeless space before her, and here the grass turned to muddy riverbanks; reeds grew in dense clusters, and the wide river – mindful of none – rolled lazily by, bending and twisting between boulders and rocks.

There was no path to follow; instead she steered her horse between ancient boles and young saplings, between gnarled roots and fallen trees, keeping the Anduin on her left. As the night deepened, more lights sprang forth in the sky, and she watched them reflected on the waters. Diamonds on the blank surface, flickering with every slow wave lapping against the shores. The breeze died away and the river flowed without a sound; no bird nor beast broke the silence.

Rell carried on for a few dark, quiet hours, but then she looked for a place to rest. A sharp bend in the river, flanked by tall reeds, was where she set up camp; small fowls whistled and pipped in malcontent between the reeds, before they fled across the waters with wings flapping. Rings on the surface spread, then stilled once more. She lit no fire that night, for she had passed beyond the borders of Elves. They did not venture so far east, and the Men of the Riddermark had little business so far from their homes. This was orc-land.

So she made do with berries, wild and sour, then lay down for the night. For a while she listened and watched the stars, but there were no signs of living things. The steady river was a constant companion, lapping against the muddy banks, and the rustling and swaying reeds lulled her into a fretful sleep. The night passed without event; morning came bright and clear. Setting out, sharp-eyed and rested, days blurred into one until the country began to change rapidly.

The banks began to rise and grow stony. Soon she passed through a hilly rock-land, and the shores turned to steep slopes of thorn and brambles, making her path all the more difficult. It was not long before crumbling cliffs and dark, weathered stones forced her to turn from the river; once more turning sharply to the south. Every day she scoured the ground below, the branches on the bushes; smelled the air and watched the sky for trails of smoke; turned stones that looked out of place for hidden messages, but never did she find signs of her uncle.

Often she would dismount and survey the ground, then leap back into the saddle; ride for some distance, then again she would dismount and examine the ground, going backwards and forward on foot. But never was there much to discover. The trails she found were confusing, and mostly stepped by animals, some leading off to the great river and others out of the forest.

While the blizzard had delayed her some, surely, she could not be so far behind? Not with the pace she had set, and the distance she had covered; and so doubt began to bloom in her mind, a small seed growing with every day that passed. Have I missed him? Taken a wrong turn? As if to mirror her bleak mood, the weather turned dull and grey. The mornings were chilly and overcast, coverings of dark clouds stealing away her light. The certainty she had felt, both in Rivendell and in the Angle, was slowly chipped away by hesitation.

Had she been wrong?

Still, she carried on. The woods began to thin once more, giving way to places green with wide plains of grass. Rolling meadows, and far beyond she saw the contoured ridges of hills in the sunrise of the morning. Rell kept to the shadowed cover of trees, only skirting the plains, but as the day grew a thick and heavy fog swathed the undergrowth. Ahead, Rell knew, she would soon be met with another river; where the Limlight emptied into the Anduin, a large area of fens and wetlands cut off her path and forced her from her set road.

She was not pleased, but neither would she venture into the bog when there was another way around. Turning south-west, she at last in the afternoon reached the eaves of the forest; ahead were highlands, gentle and rolling hills with tall grass. The world here lay still, formless as green flowed over the wide-open plains of Rohan. Far to the west stood the Misty Mountains, blue and purple peaks rising with tips of glimmering snow. It was many days since she had trudged through the high snow and fought off the chill of the storm.

The sky was pale and blue when she pulled Luin into a fast trot. The grass was tall enough to brush against her feet, bending softly beneath the animal, and they shot across the plains in a blur of grey. Morning turned to noon; soon the sun climbed and then rode slowly down the sky. Light clouds came up out of the sea in the distant South, and a breeze swept across her face. Biting and fresh.

Rell drew her horse to a halt as a smell came to her on the wind.